Funhouse Mirror
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Marley and her mother are far too much alike. Set just after Marley's collapse during Sectionals.


Funhouse Mirror

By Laura Schiller

Based on: Glee

Copyright: Ryan Murphy

Marley Rose leaned dizzily back against the passenger seat of her mother's car, her eyes half closed, the road drifting by her in a blur. Even with Blaine's juice box and Tina's leftover Reese Cups in her system, she felt as if her bones were made of water. She barely heard the growl and sputter of the ancient engine, or even the Adele song playing on the radio, which she usually loved; all she could hear, thick and heavy and inescapable as her own body, was the sound of her mother's silence as they drove.

Then the silence broke, and that was even worse.

"This is my fault," said Millie, in a voice cracked with unshed tears.

Marley swallowed hard. The two of them thought alike, they always had; apart from having no one but each other for so long, they were simply wired that way. It could be uncanny at the best of times, but to hear Millie voice exactly what she had been thinking – _This is my fault; I let Kitty manipulate me; I was too wrapped up in my own problems to pull my weight for the team; I've ruined Sectionals for everyone and now they're going to hate me _– was too much for her to bear.

"I'm so sorry, Marley," said Millie. "I'm so sorry."

"What do you – I – _No_!" Marley exclaimed, throwing her an imploring glance. Even with her eyes on the road and only half her face visible, Millie's features sagged with shame. "How can this be your fault? I'm the one who – who let this happen to me – "

"I'm a bad example to you," said Millie, squinting through her tears. "I didn't mean to be … I thought I was helping you to succeed, to shine bright like you deserved, but … but when I put those tags on your clothes and, and made you get out of the car on the corner … I was teaching you to be ashamed of where you come from. Ashamed of … of _me._"

Marley's shrunken stomach lurched with a nausea that was more than physical. Millie was right. They both knew it, but neither of them had ever said it out loud.

Marley _was_ ashamed. Every time she saw her mother struggling through a door, or making the car list to one side with her bulk, or wheezing and puffing up a staircase, or covered in grease after sharing one of Coach Beiste's "barnyard in a bite" dinners, she was ashamed. Kitty was right; her worst nightmare _was_ of turning into Millie when she grew older.

That was why she refused to leave the car at the corner, why she despised the cheerleaders for making fun of their morbidly obese lunch lady. Because she was a bad daughter, and she knew it, but she was damned if she would let anyone else know.

"I've got no right to be ashamed of you," Marley whispered.

Millie's lips trembled, as if – despite her better judgement – she had been hoping for a different answer, and Marley's confirmation of her fears had cut her deeply.

"Not after you were so unhappy when Dad left us … not when you work so hard, day and night, at such a terrible job just to keep us going, and try so hard to stick to your diet that it's painful to watch … not when you're the only one I know who's always believed in me, no matter what. I should _respect_ you, Mom, for everything you've done. I … I do respect you. So why … I mean, why can't you … ?"

"Why can't I respect myself, you mean?" Millie's layers of fat shook with silent, sardonic laughter. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, she squeezed her daughter's hand with the other. "Oh, honey. I could ask you the same thing. Look at what you've done to yourself, these past few months."

Marley looked down at the two joined hands on her lap: one plump, dimpled, red and cracked with years of dishwashing, and the other (she could see it clearly now) so frail and bony as to almost disappear. They were like mirror images sometimes, she thought. Like funhouse mirrors at a carnival: twisted, distorted, and yet so very much the same.

"We need some help," said Millie suddenly, letting go in order to pull a tissue from the glove compartment and wipe her streaming eyes. "Professional help, I mean. Soon as we get home, I'm signing us up for therapy. Both of us."

"Mom, no!" Marley protested, a knee-jerk response after so many years. "We can't afford it, you know we can't – "

"We can't afford to let you starve either," Millie retorted bluntly. "Or for me to get diabetes or a heart attack or something. Hospital bills are expensive. You go talk to that Miss Pillsbury, she's a nice girl. She'll figure something out."

"But we're fine – if you can just stick to your diet and I remember to eat – "

"That's _enough_, Marlene Allison!"

Millie's voice rang with authority. She rarely needed to use that tone, but when she did, she could silence an entire cafeteria's worth of unruly students. Marley fell silent.

"I'm gonna make you proud, honey," she added quietly. "I'm gonna learn to take good care of myself no matter what it takes. And I need you to promise me – _promise _me – to do the same."

Somehow, without her realizing it, they had arrived in the driveway of their shabby old apartment building. Millie parked the car, shifted her bulk to face Marley, and looked her squarely in the face. The blue eyes above the round, pale cheeks were just like hers, and they were bright with fierce, determined love.

"I … I promise," said Marley. "I love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby."

_If we could only love ourselves the way we love each other, _she thought ruefully, knowing her mother was thinking exactly the same thing, _how much easier this would be!_


End file.
